


The Racket

by thirdmonday



Category: Fake News FPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:22:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdmonday/pseuds/thirdmonday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen unpacks after his vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Racket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ErinPtah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/gifts).



> Written for the following prompt.
>
>> Jon & "Stephen", friendship or (non-established) romance. Jon discovers that Stephen's latest "vacation" was to an ex-gay retreat. This could be a serious angsty fic or a more pointed-but-silly comedy in the vein of the canon -- I'll enjoy either.

When Jon drops by Stephen's office, he finds Stephen surrounded by luggage, the largest of his suitcases open on his desk, taking up the entire surface. Hesitating just inside the door, Jon says, "I don't know whether I'm supposed to say 'welcome home' or 'bon voyage.'"

Stephen slams the suitcase shut and grabs a smaller one, setting it on top of the first. "Jon. What a… surprise," he says, looking Jon up and down. "What brings you here?"

"Our meeting," Jon says patiently, looking at his watch. He is ten minutes late, which makes him twenty minutes earlier to _this_ meeting than he was to his last.

Stephen eyes Jon suspiciously. "So you weren't just dropping by to watch me unpack my unmentionables."

"It's our regular meeting, Stephen," Jon says, less patiently than the first time. Then he frowns. "I didn't even know you were gone. How would I know you were unpacking your -- wait, why are you unpacking your underwear in your office? Why are you unpacking _anything_ in your office?"

"Certainly not because I want you to watch," Stephen says with a huff. "Not that I have anything to hide."

Jon doesn't point out that Stephen just attempted to do that very thing the second he realized Jon was in the room. "In that case, how was your trip?"

Stephen takes a pillow, a comforter, and a fluffy white bathrobe out of his suitcase and sets them on his desk chair. "I'm a changed man, Jon. Best thing that ever happened to me. Yes, you are talking to the new and improved Reverend Sir Doctor Stephen T. Mos Def Colbert, D.F.A. and Ph. D."

Jon frowns. "Was there something wrong with the old one?"

Stephen pulls a tennis racket out of his suitcase. "Hard to believe, isn't it? But, I'll let you in on a little secret, Jon: the old Reverend Sir Doctor Stephen T. Most Def Colbert was weak." He swings the racket in slow motion, slicing through the air.

"So you... took up tennis to build upper body strength?" Jon ventures

Stephen rolls his eyes and plants the hoop against his desk. "Weak of will, Jon. Weak of will. He was vulnerable to the temptations of salt-and-pepper hair and baggy cargo pants and T-shirts with little ketchup stains on them." He lifts the racket back up and taps the frame against his hand. "The sight of a Mets cap, it practically drove him wild. And a sweater over the T-shirt, hiding those little stains? The man couldn't think, Jon. Not about anything other than how to get you -- how to get that sweater off." 

He starts pacing, tapping the racket more frantically. "And all it took was a week. One week away from all those sexy little things and I -- and he -- I… Damn it, why didn't you love me, Mom?" Stephen cries, turning and slamming down the racket down on the pillow, comforter, and robe. He hits the fluffy pile again. "Why am I not changed? Why am I still weak? Why have you failed me, tennis racket? Why, why?"

"Stephen," Jon says quietly, coming up behind him and resting a hand on his back.

"Don't touch me, Jon!" Stephen says, dropping the racket and knocking into the chair in his attempt to get away. "I still have it!"

"Still have _what_ , Stephen?"

"The gay," Stephen says. His eyes are watery. "They told me they'd cure it. They told me all I had to do was yell and hit that pillow with a tennis racket, and they _lied_ to me, Jon. For all I know, it might be contagious."

Jon sighs. "Stephen, do you know any kind of disease that's cured by beating a pillow to death with sports equipment? Yes, they lied to you, but not about curing it. It's not a disease, Stephen. It's just _you_. And they wanted your money, so they lied to you."

Stephen sniffles. "They didn't get it," he says, considerably brighter than a moment ago.

It makes Jon instantly suspicious. "How come?"

"With how hard you've been working me, you _owed_ me a vacation. So I used your credit card. And that was a pretty crappy vacation, Jon, so I say you owe me another one." Stephen claps his hands resolutely and starts heading for the door. "But, hey, let's go to that meeting! The more hours I log, the longer the vacation, right? You know, you work too hard, Jon. You should really come with me this time, especially since you're paying and…"

Stephen's words trail off as he gets out the door and turns down the corridor. 

Jon checks his watch. He's going to be thirty minutes late to this meeting, too.


End file.
